Chapter 23 (post one)

Pre-note: I feel like in this chapter I'm trying to figure out my own characters. However, the information at the end is something that the reader must know, so the section is staying although it will be edited so it flows better. 

Chapter twenty-three, section one:

“I want to know more,” I finally said, turning towards him.

“More about what?” Jake passed me half a sandwich, his other hand still in the picnic basket sitting in the pale white sand.

“You. I feel like I hardly know you.”

“You know more about me than most people do.”

“Your past, maybe, but I don’t even know about much about your past.”

Jake opened a can of pop, perhaps more violently than needed, before answering, “Let’s not talk about the past.”

“Ok...” I watched as the pop bubbled all over his hands. He just managed to get the can away from himself before it started dripping, leaving dark spots on the red blanket. Jake swore under his breath but I laughed, grabbing a napkin from the picnic basket.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling as he placed the can down in the sand and started wiping the stinky liquid off his hands. “What were we talking about again?”

“You were going to tell me more about yourself,” I smiled, taking a bite of cheese sandwich.

“What did you want to know?”

I swallowed. “Favourite colour?”

“Blue.”

“Favourite number?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Favourite food?”

“Sushi.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I tried it for the first time here in Soleres. It’s really interesting, nothing like the food I had growing up.”

“I was not expecting that,” I laughed.

“Well, that is my favourite food. Have you had it?” Jake asked, his pop halfway to his mouth.

“It was the only thing I’d buy from the cafeteria at my old school, so I basically lived off of sushi, even if it was the pre-packaged kind,” I responded before finishing my sandwich. I remembered the pale purple of my old cafeteria, the cheesy murals with the school motto and the school mascot, an otter.

I shook my head, bringing myself back into the present. I noticed Jake had been watching me, and with his head tilted, he asked, “Still thinking of the past?”

I nodded, biting my lip and wondering how he could read my mind.

Jake put his hand on my knee, saying: “Let’s not think of the past.”

He removed his hand and instead passed me a plastic-wrapped piece of banana bread.

“Why, though? Why is the past so bad?” I took the bread, letting it grow soft in my head as I watched Jake. His face went from smiling to expressionless, cold.

“The past is something you’re not supposed to remember.”

“But I do! And so do you.”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“Why? I want to know more about your past.”

At this point Jake seemed to cringe a little. He looked away from me, watching the waves.

“New Wings, you know enough about my past.”

I put the banana bread down and moved a little closer to him on the blanket, until I could comfortably place my hand on his shoulder. He looked me when I touched him, his bottle green eyes shining with thought.

“Jake,” I said softly, “Why don’t you want to talk about it?” 

He took my hand off his shoulder and instead wrapped his hand around mine. He looked at our fingers intertwined as he said, “I don’t want to remember. I can, but I don’t want to...” he trailed off, then sighed. “It hurts too much.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

We sat in silence except for the waves steadily crashing on the shore and the occasional call of a seagull. My pastel blue nails rested in Jake’s strong hands. He kept watching them, our hands, like he was wishing he could never let go, or maybe that time would stop altogether. In the end he looked up at me, asked me something about school, and we drifted back into simple conversation until the sun set and the wind chilled and we realized I was going to be home late again.